Doppelganger
by Secret Spy Guy
Summary: Ever since he lost his brother, Sam's been searching for a way to bring him back, finding only dead ends.  While working on a case in Harmony, Pennsylvania, he meets Tom Hanniger, a man with connections to the killer...and he looks just like Dean.
1. Sighting

_Chapter 1: Sighting._

It still felt strange driving the impala...It felt strange hearing his own music instead of Dean's ragged cassette tapes playing over and over and over. It felt strange never sitting in the passenger seat, having to take the wheel again and again, despite how exhausted he was, how hurt after a hunt he might be. He'd never get used to having the empty space beside him...to have the car so unbearably quiet _all the time_ unless he drowned it out with the soft tones of his ipod that made him forget, for one moment, the raging rock metal he'd grown up with.

But, Dean was dead...and it was becoming harder and harder to believe that there was any way to bring him back. Sam had tracked down demons, witches, and other denizens of the dark. He had laid his soul bare time and time again, making it clear that he was prepared to bargain, prepared to do anything to bring his brother back, in any form he could. The longer time went on, the more desperate he became, until he found himself dealing with voodoo priests and necromancers.

None of the deals went through though...

But Sam kept trying.

He also kept hunting. Every case could possibly unveil a new lead that would bring him closer to Dean. So Sam researched, and he killed monsters, and he cut and hacked his way through the dark underbelly of the world, shedding everything in his desperate search. He ran until he was ragged, sleeping in the back of the impala, more often than not.

It was the life he never wanted, but it was the life he got...Dean would have handled it better than he. It was lonely and empty, every dead end shredding his soul to pieces. Nothing worked...but Sam didn't know what else to do.

* * *

><p>It was just another place he was passing through, a small mining town nestled in Pennsylvania, surrounded by trees and endless wilderness. Sam had driven up to the closest bar he could find, sat down at a table, and started researching. Surrounded in piles of papers, cold beer sitting untouched, Sam flipped through a few articles, scanning over them. Shootings, stabbings, all normal, mundane deaths. No cattle mutilations, no bizarre occurrences. Sam sighed, shoving them all aside. He was tired though. Maybe he'd spend the night in town, instead of ploughing ahead. It wasn't like he had a destination. It wasn't like he had a hunt to get to. And he was tired...so tired...of everything.<p>

The bar was decorated in faded paper hearts and red streamers. There were a few cardboard cherubs shooting bent arrows all around, a few paper lanterns that had seen better days. Sam had almost forgotten about Valentines day...not that it really mattered. He didn't have anyone to celebrate it with, and he wasn't going to look around for some paid company. It was just going to be another day like any other.

Taking a swig of his beer, Sam shoved all of his dead-end research into his bag, and continued to sulk, eyes staring fixedly at one of the paper hearts on the wall.

He had seen Dean's heart ripped open by the teeth of an invisible beast. He had seen the blood gushing from the damaged, struggling muscle as it tried to keep beating...but eventually lost. Hearts didn't really look all perfect like that. They were ugly, fleshy things, sickening to look at in pictures, even worse to see up close. They were not romantic. They were not beautiful.

He felt like tearing his own from his chest.

"Glad you share my sentiments." A man slurred, sliding onto the stool next to Sam at the bar, half-empty beer clutched in his hand. "Valentines day is a damn joke."

Sam quickly scrutinized the stranger, taking in his scruffy face and dirty clothes. He looked like any other small-town citizen, nothing special, not a monster or a mastermind...but, if there was one thing that Sam had learned during his life, it was not to trust outward appearances. The man could be anything...but, he could also be a source of useful information. It was like playing with fire. Sam relied on others for facts and leads, but that precious information could so easily be misleading.

"I just think the holiday's overrated." Sam said, deciding to see what the man knew. He seemed harmless enough, just an old, jaded guy slumming his evening in a bar. Hopefully, he would stay that way.

The man scoffed, finishing rest of his beer in one long pull.

"It's like no one even remembers what happened...not even ten years ago! They just continue on buying their little candy hearts, and their cards and shit, when they should be mourning."

"Mourning?" Sam asked, his interest piqued. "Why should they be mourning?"

The man chuckled darkly-a hollow, bitter sound-and tapped his beer bottle on the counter, signaling for a new one.

"You're not from around here, are ya?"

Sam shook his head.

"At least you have an excuse." The man scoffed. "There was a fucking massacre, right on Valentines day, right down the road from here. Harry Warden slaughtered every soul in that hospital, and then all them damn kids in that mine. How the hell could they forget that? Dumb shits."

"Did they ever find out why he did it?"

"There was an accident at the local mine where Henry worked. He and five others were trapped down there for days, and when help finally got to them, the only one left alive was Henry. He'd slaughtered the others so he could live, so he wouldn't run out of air. But, he was in a coma by the time they found him. The doctors didn't think that he'd ever wake up."

"But he did."

The stranger nodded, suddenly much quieter.

"He'd lost it down there...and when he woke up, he wasn't the Henry we all knew. The cops shot him, in the end...but he'd killed so many before that. I just don't know how people could just forget it in favor of this damn holiday."

Was it a hunt? Sam wasn't sure. The man was quiet after that, useless for more information, trying to drink away the memories of that fateful valentines night. Sam bought him another beer, before gathering his things, heading out to the parking lot.

Harry Warden had all the makings of a vengeful spirit, and with Valentines day so close, Sam wondered if he should stay until then, to make sure that nothing happened. He'd be no closer to saving Dean, but if he left, and something happened, he'd never forgive himself.

The least he could do was spend the night, and conduct some of his own research in the morning. His mind set, Sam climbed into the impala, and headed out to find someplace to spend the night.

* * *

><p>The Thunderbird motel was just another shady joint in the middle of nowhere, a common hangout for people who wanted something other than a good night's rest. Sam had spent his childhood in such places, secreted away while his father went off to hunt. He was used to the seedy atmosphere, being asked to pay by the hour.<p>

Strangely enough, this motel was owned by a talkative woman (who barely came up to his knees). She took his money, and handed him the key to his room. Sam thanked her, patted her French bulldog on the head, and went off in search of his sleeping quarters.

On the way out, he passed a gruff, bald man slinking into one of the rooms. Sam ignored him, and quickly located is own room dragging his lone duffle bag inside.

* * *

><p>A commotion in the room next door woke Sam from his light sleep. Yelling and arguing had replaced the previous non-threatening sounds of love-making sifting through the thin walls. Immediately, the hunter was alert, hand reaching for the demon knife he kept beneath his pillow. It could be anything...but he had to make sure.<p>

He heard a door slam, and the yelling escalate outside. Cautiously, Sam crept to the window, almost shrinking back in surprise as a woman, completely naked, save for a pair of high-heeled shoes, ran into the parking lot, holding a hand gun, screaming at the man Sam had seen earlier.

Sam drew back from the window, quickly searching for his cellphone. This wasn't supernatural. It was something else entirely, but it looked like it was going to get ugly. He had just dialed 911 when a blood curdling scream echoed through the parking lot. Racing to the window, Sam saw the woman running clumsily back to her room...pursued by a man dressed in an old miner's uniform, wielding a pickaxe.

Henry?

No time to think about it. He had to act.

Dropping his cell phone, Sam grabbed a shotgun filled with salt rounds, and rushed after them only to find the poor woman in her room, trapped against a wall in an upturned bed-frame...

A gaping hole in her abdomen, spurting blood.

And the miner was nowhere to be seen.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Sorry if there are any tyosglaring errors in this. I've been sitting on the opening forever, but the last bit was giving me trouble (it's still the oddest thing I've written Why does she have to be naked?). Thank you for reading! **_


	2. Tom Hanniger

**Spy Guy: So, this chapter didn't cover as much as planned, but it was getting a bit lengthy (I'm trying to keep these chapters kind of short). **

**Also, I'm sadistic, and I like cliffhangers trololol~**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 2: <strong>Tom Hanniger.**  
><strong>

* * *

><p>Later that night, Sam found himself in the police station, sitting across from a serious-faced cop who kept trying to grill him for information he didn't have. Sam answered his endless questions, repeating over and over that he hadn't seen anyone other than the woman and the miner at the scene. He didn't know what the guy wanted to hear, but it sure wasn't what he was saying.<p>

"Are you positive it was a miner?" The cop-Martin Ferris, according to his badge-asked, his voice still skeptical after several rounds.

"Yes." Sam replied, trying not to sound too irritated. "I'm positive."

"Why are you in Harmony anyway?"

"I was just passing through. Needed to stop for the night."

Sam knew that he was the prime suspect. Without other witnesses, or a murder weapon left at the scene of the crime, Sam had no way to defend himself. He only had his word, and in such a small town, the word of a stranger meant nothing.

"Can you stay for a few more days?" Ferris asked, "Just until this mess gets sorted out? In case I have to ask you any more questions."

"Yes." Sam said. What else _could _he say? There was a good chance that the killer might be a vengeful spirit, and if that was the case, the killings wouldn't stop until he found Harry's grave, and burned his bones. Staying in town would keep the cops off his tail, and give him an opportunity to conduct more research.

"Martin, look at this."

A man with an unshaven face, and black spiky hair barged into the cubicle, waving around a piece of paper.

"What is it, Axel?" Ferris asked, narrowing his eyes.

"The guest list for the Thunderbird." The man continued, stepping closer, his finger pointing to one name right above Sam's. "Look who it is."

"Tom Hanniger?" Martin asked, his voice incredulous. "What he hell's he doing back in town?"

Axel shrugged, folding the paper and shoving it into his pocket. "Probably to sell his daddy's mine. You!"

Sam suddenly found himself the center of attention, and sat up in his chair, unwilling to be intimidated, even if the man _was_ the sheriff of the town.

"Did you see a guy there at the hotel, with short dark hair? Green eyes? 'Bout six feet tall?"

Sam shook his head, glaring at the man before him.

"As I told your colleague here, I only saw the victims, and the guy in the mining suit. No one else. Can I leave yet?"

"You can go." Ferris replied, jotting down a few more things on his clipboard. "Just make sure you don't leave town until we give the say-so."

Sam unfolded himself from the chair, feeling slight satisfaction at the surprised look on Axel's face as he towered over him.

"Can I go back to the hotel, or do I need to find someplace else to stay?"

"You can go back to your room." Ferris replied. "Just know that we're watching the place."

Sam gave a curt nod, and walked out of the station, letting go of a sigh that he didn't know he'd been holding. Things had suddenly gotten more complicated, but at least his time at the station hadn't been all for nothing...now he had another name to file right below Harry Warden's:

**Tom Hanniger. **

* * *

><p>The next day, Sam made his way to the local library, a small, musty-smelling brick building that had clearly seen better days. Sam walked up to the front desk, quickly pasting on a smile for the middle-aged librarian sitting behind it.<p>

"Hello. May I ask where your newspaper archives are?"

Sam found himself led to a dark, poorly-lit corner of the library, where a row of tall, rusted, filing cabinets lined the wall.

"Is there any particular year you're looking for?" The librarian asked. Sam nodded, clearing his throat as he replied, eyes darting around the room, taking in the stained carpet below, and the crooked wooden table and chairs situated off to one side.

"What year did the incident at the mine happen?"

The librarian's face darkened.

"There have been many incidents at the mine..." She said, her voice suddenly taking on a hard edge. "But you mean the one with Harry Warden, don't you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

At that, the librarian sighed, walking over to a small unlabeled cabinet in the corner.

"We keep those papers separate." She said, sliding open the bottom drawer, pulling out a pile of worn pages. "So, if anyone needs them, they're all here. Usually its curious kids from the schools wanting to research about it, but I've never seen you around town before."

"I'm not from here." Sam said, carefully taking the papers in his arms.

"Were you at the motel last night?"

Sam nodded.

"I want to know what I've walked into, and seeing as how I'm stuck in town for a few days..."

It wasn't _really_ a lie...not entirely.

"You've walked into something terrible." The librarian replied, her voice softening. "We're really a nice little town...but this one things just keeps coming back to haunt us."

She shook her head, before sliding the drawer shut with a click.

"If you need anymore help, feel free to ask, Dear."

* * *

><p>Sam carefully took a seat in one of the unstable chairs, spreading the newspapers out on the accompanying table. Carefully, he sorted through them, his eyes reading the dates, skimming through a few papers that came before the disaster...and then he found it: February 14th, 1998...<p>

The headline read: **"Buried Alive in Hanniger Mines." **

Hanniger. There was that name again.

"_Hanniger? What's he doing back in down?" _

"_Probably to sell his daddy's mine." _

Sam read on, learning that there had been six miners trapped in the north end of Tunnel no.5 when the cave-in occurred, one of which was Harry Warden. Initially, it was believed that an earthquake had caused the collapse, however, there were some who speculated that it had been an error on one of the miner's parts. Coming to the end of that article, Sam turned to the next...

And froze.

Suddenly, his heart was beating too fast in his chest. His hands began to tremble. Sweat beaded on his brow. He blinked his eyes several times, trying to focus on the black and white image before him, hoping that it would change...that it was just the grief making it look like...like.

Dean.

There he was, beside the header: **"Hanniger Son Questioned."** An exact look-alike of his brother, wearing a mining helmet, his face covered in soot. Taking a deep breath, Sam forced himself to look through the article, learning that Tom Hanniger was being questioned about the cave in. It was suspected that he had neglected to bleed the lines, and thus caused an explosion that resulted in the collapse of the tunnel.

And he looked just like Dean.

His brother, his _dead_ brother, who had been with him in 1998. His brother who hadn't left his side, ever, not until Sam had left his...not until death had taken him away.

Dean.

The papers dropped from Sam's hands, and he pushed away from the table, suddenly needing to get out, suddenly feeling cramped and suffocated by the musty air. Heart hammering in his chest, he stumbled out of the library, ignoring the librarian's worried voice as she called after him.

_Dean._

There was a voice in his head telling him that he should have stayed and finished reading the papers. It had to be a coincidence; some monster _couldn_'t have taken his brother's body, his voice, his eyes, his face and hair; his everything. Tom had lived in Harmony his whole life...he'd grown into Dean's face. Somehow...but how?

Then, the hunter within began rising to the surface, its hatred towards shifters and revenants sending Sam's blood boiling, silencing all logic and reason. Dean had been impersonated before. It'd gotten messy and bloody before he'd put that son of a bitch out of its misery, and he could not let it happen again. Dean couldn't be a criminal again.

Leaning against the Impala, Sam took a few deep breaths, trying to calm his warring mind, trying to get the image of Dean...no, Tom, out of his head. It had to be a coincidence. It had to. Why would a shifter hold someone's form for so long? Since 1998? Did it still look like Dean, or had it since shed that skin? Did it have several forms that it changed between when the urge to shift became too great?

Sam's hand brushed against the pocket where his cellphone was, and he suddenly had the urge to call Bobby. It'd been months...almost a year, since they'd last spoken. Bobby hadn't approved of his attempts to save Dean, trying to persuade Sam again and again to stop trying, but he just didn't understand. He didn't understand that Sam _needed_ Dean. Dean had done everything to save him, even sacrificing his soul. What kind of brother would Sam be if he didn't do the same?

Eventually, Sam had just stopped answering the man's calls...stopped listening to his worried voicemails. For six months, he'd pretended that Bobby was gone...and it'd made things easier. Without anyone to tie him down...everything was just easier.

But now...everything had changed.

Sliding into the Impala, Sam pulled his phone from his pocket, quickly finding Bobby's number, and pressing "call". Then, he waited, his mouth dry, hands shaking, eyes darting around the car. How was Bobby going to react? Would he hang up? He'd have every right to.

"_Hello?" _The man's familiar, gruff voice echoed over the line.

Sam paused. It was now or never.

"Bobby?"


	3. In the Bar

**Spy Guy: Here's an update. :) In the immortal words of Sheriff Burke, Happy Fucking Valentines Day.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 3:<strong> In the Bar.

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><p>The ensuing pause seemed endless. Sam could hear his heart pounding in his chest, could hear the world around him getting louder and louder as the moment drew on. He shouldn't have called. This was a mistake. He'd tried so hard to cut himself off from everything around him, and here he was, opening the gates that would let people back into his isolated world. He felt his hand begin to tremble again, but for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to hang up. There was some part of him waiting for Bobby's answer, wanting to hear more of his voice. Growing up, Bobby had been somewhat of a father to himself and Dean, and later on, an invaluable asset during hunts.<p>

How had he repaid him? By ignoring him? By abandoning him?

"Sam?" The man replied, his voice more tentative and meek than Sam had ever heard it. "Is that you?"

"Hey." Sam said, his own voice shaking more than he intended. "Ye-yeah." He cleared his throat. "It's me."

Another pause.

"I thought you were dead, ya idjit!" Bobby shouted through the line, and Sam flinched. "You didn't answer any of my calls, and no one's seen you for months. The last I heard of you was from some hunter who said he saw you talking to a _goddamn voodoo__priest_ out in New Orleans! Sam, you should know better!"

He wanted to hang up. He wanted to just drop the phone and bury his face in his hands...but he knew that Bobby was right. Going to see the priest had been a terrible idea…and more than that, it had almost cost him everything. In the end, when everything was all said and done, he still wasn't any closer to bringing Dean back.

"Bobby please-"

"Tell me you've given up." The man demanded. "Tell me you're done."

"No." Sam said. "I'm not done Bobby, and…and I probably never will be. You're going to have to accept it or I'll hang up."

But, he hadn't yet. He wasn't sure if he even could at this point. His hand felt glued to the phone, his body frozen in place.

"Then you won't be getting anything from me." The other man growled. "Sam, I just can't help you throw your life away. Do you think that Dean would like how—"

"I found someone who looks just like Dean!"

Sam tried to calm his breathing as he waited for Bobby to reply, his skin suddenly clammy and cold. He should hang up. He should forget that this had even happened, and go back to being alone.

_"What did you __**do**__?"_

The man's voice was low and full of venom. Sam could almost see his face; he'd seen it many times before when his dad and Bobby had gotten into a bad fight.

"Nothing. It's not really him."

_It can't be. _

"Then what?" Bobby asked. "A shifter? Did you seriously call me about a shifter, boy?"

Yes. Yes he had. He _had_ called him about a shifter, or something like one. Why? Because he couldn't face having to stab his brother with a knife, or burn him to death, or cut off his head. Because he was a coward unfit to hunt anymore, because he had such a significant glaring weakness…his brother. He'd killed so many things over the past few months, but this-this one single, pathetic shifter-had reduced him to a trembling kid again.

"I can't do it, Bobby."

"What? You can't kill a shifter? You've done it before."

"No…I can't kill Dean."

* * *

><p>"<em>Don't do anything stupid." <em>Bobby had said. "_I'll be there in a day, and then we'll figure this out, alright?" _

Back in the motel, Sam sat on the edge of the sagging, broken bed, swallowing down a greasy hamburger that tasted like nothing in his mouth. In the background, the news was playing on a small television set, its picture fuzzy and sound muffled. Sam had been trying to pay attention to it-he _was_ on a hunt, after-all-but his thoughts kept wandering.

"_Don't do something stupid." _

Easier said than done. He was torn between fear and anger, between wanting to kill the thing with his brother's face, to being crippled by the thought. His instincts screamed at him to do _something_ even though he knew it was a terrible idea.

There was a thought that kept scratching at the back of his mind...a thought that kept pushing and pushing no matter how hard Sam tried to ignore it. He had no proof that this thing was a shifter. Shifters couldn't hold their forms for too long, and Tom Hanniger had been born and raised in this town. If a shifter tried to stay in the same form for too long, their skin would start to crawl, and they'd rip it off to escape the pain. Sam had seen it before...it wasn't pretty.

There was a soft voice in the back of his brain, whispering about the possibility that Tom wasn't a shifter at all...saying that, maybe, somewhere along the road, Sam had lost his mind.

Choking down his last bite of burger, Sam wiped his hands on the bedspread, and grabbed his coat. He needed an ice-cold beer to slow his mind down. Maybe something stronger. Much stronger. He hated the times when his thoughts got the better of him. When dark notions leapt from the shadows and tried to consume him. When Dean was around, he had had a distraction, but now, with nothing to hold them at bay, he found thoughts leaking in, whispering to him.

_Whispering..._

* * *

><p>Sam found himself at the same bar as the previous night, hunched over the counter, eyes focussed on a paper heart taped to a wooden support beam across from him. He had to really get over this. He had to.<p>

But he couldn't.

Everything had been a mess before yesterday, but at least there had been constants in his life. He had known that Dean was dead, and that it was his job to bring him back.

Now...

There was a group of men to his left, taking shots of whiskey and scoffing at the upcoming holiday. Sam recognized a few of them from the night before, all of them much older than himself, with silver hair and wrinkled faces. It wasn't long though, before a younger man walked up to them, with curly dark hair and brown tweed jacket. He hovered a moment, before one of the men turned and glared at him.

"Doc Miller, you just going to stand there, or you going to say something?"

The younger man faltered a moment, his fingers wrapping tighter around his glass.

"I'm sorry Mr. Burke, but y'know, the town's all shook up-"

"Harry Warden's dead." The man snapped, finishing another shot in one gulp. "I shot him myself. It's a copycat. Just some sick fuck."

"They never did find his body." The man to Burke's left murmured. "He didn't die in the cave-in, despite what the reports said."

Sam heard someone enter the bar, and suddenly, everything fell silent. He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and a strange chill pass through his body. Slowly, he turned to look at the newcomer, to see the man that had so quickly disrupted the peace.

And his beer bottle fell from his hand.

"It's the Hanniger Kid."

"What the hell is he doing here?"

There he was, sidling into the bar with a familiar bow-legged gait, green eyes darting about the room. He was dressed in a dark coat over a thick sweatshirt, worn jeans and heavy boots. But, his hair was almost black...too dark to be Dean's. Sam hadn't noticed it before-because the paper had been printed in black and white-but now it was all too obvious, and his gut twisted. Shapeshifters didn't make errors like that. They made perfect copies of the person they were impersonating.

Sam had to struggle not to flinch as the thing sat beside him, leaning over the bar, closing his sunken-in eyes and taking a deep breath. Monster or not, he didn't look well. Maybe his skin was starting to crawl, and he wanted nothing more than to rip it from its bones...or he was human, and sick, suffering from a cold, or the flu.

Either way, Sam didn't have time to think about it.

Shouting erupted in the bar as one of the men seized Tom by the hood of his sweatshirt, and punched him in the face. The younger man reeled back, trying to protect himself from the sudden onslaught of blows.

Sam was on his feet in an instant, pulling the old man away from his target, dodging his continued punches until the rest of the bargoers managed to hold their friend back.

"What the fuck?" Tom cursed, wiping at the blood running from his nose.

Sam froze.

The voice...Tom's voice...it wasn't right either...not low enough to be Dean. Not rough and broken.

"He's back because of you!" The old man snarled, struggling in his friends' hold. "You were responsible! He wants you!"

Tom reeled back as his attacker managed to work his way free. Then, suddenly, another man grabbed Tom by the front of his shirt, pulling him close, and hissing in his face,

"You're in the wrong bar, kid."

"Hey!" Sam found himself shouting, forcing the man away from Tom. "He didn't even do anything!"

Tom's second attacker sneered at him.

"You're not a local, are you, kid?" He snapped. "You don't even know what happened here."

"I do." Sam snarled. "He made a mistake. That doesn't give you an excuse to gang up on him!"

Sam wasn't sure why he was protecting the thing that had his brother's face. Maybe it was because he wanted answers, maybe it was because he wanted to deal the blows himself...

Or, maybe it was because he wouldn't have let those men hurt Dean.

"Red, come on!" Burke shouted, pulling at the man's shoulder. "Stand down!"

"Why the hell should I?" The man, Red spat. "We all know why Hanniger's back! He's going to sell the mine. Then there's all this Harry Warden bullshit going around! And now, _he's_ back in town! It doesn't seem right, sheriff."

He turned to Tom, eyes narrowed.

"It doesn't seem right."

Sam found himself caught up in another wave of fighting, trying to pull Red-who was just as tall as him, with twice the muscle-away from Tom, who was barely managing to hold his own. Red growled like an animal, forcing Tom into the wall, and Sam couldn't ignore the loud *thunk* his head made against the wood.

"Stop!" Burke screamed, placing himself between the two men. "Goddammit, why don't you know when to stand down?"

Tom swayed a bit on his feet, using the wall heavily for support. With a shaky hand, he reached up, tenderly touching the back of his head. Sam watched as he drew away, his fingers covered in blood.

"Harry's going to kill you for good this time, you hear me?" The first man spat.

"Fuck off, Hinch." Burke said. "Can't you see he's injured pretty bad?"

"I'm fine." Tom slurred, pushing himself away from the wall.

"You might need a hospital."

The man scoffed.

"I'll be fine on my own."

Sam watched as Tom took a few shaky steps, before faltering, and somehow, Sam was there to steady him when he did. The man looked at him with familiar, confused eyes, before accepting his help, and taking a few more steps.

"Could I trouble you for a ride?" Tom asked as they approached the door. "I can't really drive like this."

"No problem." Sam found himself saying.

And for a moment, he could pretend that Dean was back, and they were stumbling back to the hotel room after a long night fighting monsters.

But...this wasn't Dean, and the monster he was supposed to be fighting was sitting in the passenger seat of the impala.

Tom had to be a monster...he definitely wasn't Dean.

Sam couldn't forget that.


	4. Sarah

**Spy Guy: An update. bleh. **

**Fillery chappy is fillery.  
><strong>

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><p>Sam helped Tom into his motel room, only to be greeted by the late motel owner's small black and white dog. The dog was alone now, his owner gutted by Harry's pickaxe the night before. Sam had almost forgotten about the little guy...but it didn't seem like Tom had.<p>

"Come here, Louis." Tom sighed as he slumped down on one of the beds. The small animal gave a little bark, and leapt onto the orange bedspread, rolling over on his back, demanding attention.

"Are you taking care of him now?" Sam asked, standing awkwardly in the doorway.

"Yeah." Tom murmured, "Someone had to and...and, I still remember him from when he was a puppy. I'd take him for walks sometimes y'know?"

"Oh." Sam replied lamely, his eyes darting around the room. There wasn't much there, save for an opened suitcase, and a few articles of clothing strewn about. Then, he spotted the small orange bottle of pills on the dresser, and his eyes narrowed.

"What are those?" The man asked, pointing. Tom turned, and snatched the bottle from the dresser, popping off the cap, and sliding a few of the white pills into his palm, his hands shaking all the while.

"My meds. Thanks for reminding me...I always forget to take them."

He swallowed them dry, and made a face, before throwing the bottle carelessly on the bedspread. Sam watched as the man started scratching Louis between the ears, a small smile curling over his lips as the dog snorted happily.

"Are you sure you're going to be okay?" Sam asked, still standing in the doorway.

"Yeah." Tom replied, his eyes remaining focussed on the dog. "I'll be fine. I'm already feeling better."

* * *

><p>That night, Sam sifted through every photograph he had of his brother.<p>

* * *

><p>Bobby didn't arrive the next morning. Sam passed the time cleaning his guns and knives, laying them out in a row as he finished. Around ten, he spotted Tom walking through the parking lot toward an old baby-blue Ford Bronco.<p>

Sam allowed himself a small smile as he watched the man climb inside and drive off. Dean wouldn't have been caught dead driving a car like that. It was looking less and less likely that this thing intended to impersonate his brother...but there was always a chance...

Sam worked on cleaning dried blood from the engravings of a silver knife, his eyes focussed on the sharp edge as his cloth polished it to a pristine shine.

* * *

><p>It was around noon when he decided to venture out of the motel room, and see more of the town.<p>

It was an overcast day, the clouds hanging heavily in the grey sky as Sam walked down the sidewalk, hemmed by pink apple blossoms on each side. Harmony was a small town, with old buildings filled with quaint little shops, but he couldn't help but notice that everything looked rundown and dirty. There were a few others out and about, mostly middle-aged women and the elderly. Most of them regarded him with suspicion, staring as he made his way down the street. A stranger in a small town always stood out. Sam had spent his whole life being a stranger...He would have thought he'd be used to it by now.

Eventually, Sam found himself at a grocery store, and he strolled inside, deciding that if he was going to be staying a few days, he'd need some more supplies, especially when Bobby arrived. A young brunette greeted him as he entered, batting her eyes at him. Sam ignored her flirtations, heading toward the dairy section to pick up a carton of milk, and some butter. Placing them in a small red basket, he moved to grab a few microwave dinners, and a box of strawberries, along with a bag of carrots and a couple cans of soup. Lastly, he snagged a six pack of beer, and headed to checkout. A young woman was behind the counter, her red hair hanging in curls around her face. She was chatting with a loud woman, trying to placate her as she placed her items into a paper bag.

"Tom's not all that bad." She said, smiling weakly.

The loud woman huffed, her face flushed red.

"He's just here to sell the mine, and put half the town out of a job. And Sarah, you have to admit, it's real suspicious that Irene gets the axe right after he shows up again."

"I know Tom." The cashier snapped, her previous composure gone. "Thelma, he's not the killer."

Thelma huffed, snatching her bag, and storming out of the store. Dejected, Sarah sighed, turning towards Sam, an apologetic look on her face.

"Sorry you had to see that. Thelma's very opinionated."

"It's alright." Sam smiled, placing his basket on the counter. "The whole town seems to hate this Tom guy, though. I saved him from a bar brawl last night."

Sarah's face fell again.

"I've known him my whole life. Tom wouldn't hurt a fly. He's just...had some bad luck."

Sam helped her bag up his things, his mind wanting more information, but unsure of how far he could push her before he went too far, and she shut down.

"What happened to him?" The man asked, taking a chance. "The guys at the bar were saying things."

Sarah didn't reply.

"I'm sorry if I'm prying. I'm kind of a snoop-"

"No. It's okay." The woman said. "It's just...Tom's had problems ever since the accident at the mine, and things only got worse after the massacre. Harry almost killed him. He was never the same after that...And then he disappeared."

"Disappeared?"

Sarah's eyes turned toward the counter, her fingers picking at her nails. Guilt.

"He ran off." She said. "His dad looked for him for a while. We all did. Then, Mr. Hanniger suddenly called off the search...and that was that. Hadn't heard from him until now."

Sarah wordlessly finished bagging his purchases, and Sam passed her one of his many phony credit cards. The transaction went through, and the man picked up his things and left, his mind whirling.


End file.
